


Reunion

by amzmcd



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Cute, Fluff, Gay Male Character, Jim is a Little Shit, M/M, Moriarty Is A Dick, Moriarty was REAL, Reunions, Suicidal Thoughts, gay babies, mormor, seb is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 01:53:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2795438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amzmcd/pseuds/amzmcd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even after his bosses death, Sebastian Moran liked consistency and regularity. He liked Jim’s spontaneity too. A reunion ficlet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> Sebastian is sad and Jim is still a bastard.

Jim had been a tea drinker, milk and one sugar in the black mug with ‘Boss’ printed in thick white letters. It still sat in the cupboard. Boss and Tiger, side by side. Even after death.

The SIG was like a friend in his hand, familiar. Three years later he still contemplated blowing his brains against the wall. On the roof of Bart’s he thought about mirroring Jim in a pathetic copy-cat suicide. A voice in his head told him no. The booze and pills kept him going, and he was a little more murderous than ever. Jim would be proud.  
‘Well done, Tiger.’ He could hear it lilting in his ear as he finished a hit.  
He had kept up the business. But Jim Moriarty would always be the boss.

Sometimes he heard him, others he saw him. A curving Cheshire smirk as he left the flat, winking from the corner of his eye. Sebastian still heard his wry little laugh. His Churchtown, County Dublin accent murmuring praise and humming strangely sweet songs as he worked.

Twice a week he did the dry cleaning run. Un-worn Westwood and Givenchy, Tom Ford and Gucci. Prada shoes were polished and tucked back into their space in the wardrobe until the next week. Sebastian would always be a military man at heart. He liked consistency and regularity. Seb liked Jim’s spontaneity too.

On that day in early January he almost crashed his car. Again. A hit in Knightsbridge had taken a little more time than it should have. As he picked up the phone to hear that sweet tone, he could hear smile on the Irish man’s lips.

‘Did you miss me, Tiger?’  
Sebastian Moran almost ended up on the bed of the Thames.  
‘Get yourself home, Sebby,’ he whispered, the sound of a glass of whisky being poured was picked up by the sniper’s sharp ears.

He had officially gone mad. This time he was sitting there, king of the castle in the pristine leather armchair. Glenfiddich Single Malt in hand.  
‘Took your time.’ It was like he had never left. ‘I’m real, Sebastian. Don’t look like you’ve just seen a ghost.’

Jim’s smirk was still the same. Bastard. Fucking bastard. Sebastian didn’t know whether to punch him or pour himself a drink. He did the latter.  
‘Three years. Not a fucking word?’ His voice was cold. The feeling of hurt and betrayal in his heart would never go away.  
Jim rolled his eyes. ‘I had some things to do. I had to make it real.’ He sipped the whiskey and leaned forward, watching his sniper.

‘You’re a bastard.’  
‘Language, Sebastian.’  
That extracted a smirk. The first feeling other than sorrow and anger and betrayal he had felt in three long years.

‘I missed you,’ Jim whispered, closer now than Sebastian had realised. Cat-like as always. ‘Did you miss me?’  
Seb turned his head, leaning their foreheads together. They shared a small smile.

'So fucking much.’

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this little ficlet! I hope to write more soon :)


End file.
